


What Buoys Me (Your Resolute Amity)

by Ephemeral_Everlast



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: 30 Days of Writing, M/M, Romance, first-times, light-hearted themes, word prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-15 15:43:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ephemeral_Everlast/pseuds/Ephemeral_Everlast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirty days of word prompts, thirty days to move from battle-buddies to comrades to far more than they ever dared consider themselves to become. Steve/Thor</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Are You Done? You're Making Me a Little Uncomfortable

**Author's Note:**

> A dear friend of mine from tumblr, sannguine, provided me with a link to word prompts, which could be for any pairing of choice. 
> 
> Steve/Thor deserve more love from me, and I swear that the next chapter will be out soon for “Please, Shake Me.” I swear it on my love for tea and Smirnoff. 
> 
> But for now, a thirty-day prompt which I might coalesce into ThunderFrost and FrostIron also, because those pairings hold a high place in my heart.
> 
> In which case, the Avengers are all becoming good friends, light-heartedness is afoot, and confessions of love do not go as planned. 
> 
> Ownership is not mine, the characters can’t be tamed. Have I tried? You bet yer britches.

_Prompt 1: Beginning_

_Chapter 1: Are You Done? You’re Making Me a Little Uncomfortable._

Every victory provided the opportunity to celebrate, the cheers that rimmed the smoke-riddled air filled with promise, with the encouragement that they had done it once again, that the city was safe once more. 

Steve had never before experienced such a glory and for that, he allowed his shoulders to slump, his shield touching the ground with a profound release of breath. He could relax, listening to the sounds of Tony’s insistence that they all go shopping somewhere, buy a yacht or a private island and drink banana-flavored rum until they knew why Captain Jack preferred an endless supply. 

Before he could ask yet again what the hell he meant by Captain Jack - was that the alcohol, a character, a cult? - loud peals of laughter all but blotted out Tony’s concept of finding a 24-hour pasta delivery that was at the top of his list of things to eat out of business, Thor’s joyful outburst interrupted his spiel about spaghetti versus ribbon pasta. 

The battle-drunk, elated Nordic god had a tendency as of late to regale to the team what he had observed they had done best, beginning with Natasha first and foremost, her vicious tactic of using the enemy’s own weight against them, thrusting forward with two sleek guns and blowing their brains out of their skulls highlighted in brief but vivid detail on Thor’s lips. There was an unmistakable glint in Clint’s eyes when Thor told him how he could rival the legendary gods of archery with his aim, and even when Natasha told the god that he needed to stop while he was ahead, lest he inflate Clint’s ego even more, there was no denying the gentle slant of her lips that let her know that she appreciated this. 

Thor’s unabashed propensity - after the battle was won of course, never in the middle of one - to exclaim what everyone had done well had been a happy habit of his for quite some time now, a streak of his own proclivity that no one quite had the heart to break. Especially since it was said in earnest, no matter how loud he tended to get for the full five-minute oration. 

With Bruce, Thor tended to nod and tell him that his size and strength was unmatched, and that there was no such thing as exaggerated control over his body, for he _was_ control, the tandem and balance that governed something green and bulging beneath his skin. Bruce gave him a small nod, shifting from his left foot to his right, and then claimed that Thor wasn’t so bad himself, no matter how strongly he could come off at times. 

Tony coughed, expressing that if they were done sharing their feelings and having a love-fest in the middle of an alley-way, they should probably get going before the press showed up. Thor then gave what sounded like an, “aha!” and clapped Tony on the back with enough force to hurt the engineer had he not been protected by the iron suit that covered his skin. 

“And you, Man of Iron, have stirred a great hunger in me, a thirst for the knowledge of science. You have saved us more times than I can count, and for that, you have my gratitude.” 

Although Steve couldn’t physically see Tony’s face, he imagined that inside the mask, Tony’s grin was wry and worthy of being called a smirk.

“Love you too, big guy. Maybe if you used a little of that bodice-ripper charm on Maria, she’d keep us away from Cyclops’ wrath once in awhile. Think about that, the things you learn.” And with that, he and Bruce took off in some sort-of mad chase down the street, a tradition that they acquired after their third battle where they all fought as one unit, racing into the sunset like old friends about to take on the world, away from any notion of destiny biting at their heels.

Natasha’s laughter was always subtle, something you had to listen for in order to hear if it even happened or not. It was always matched with a small smile from Clint, Clint who followed her down the alley in a slow, satisfied gait, in no hurry whatsoever to get back to base. If there were reporters, they could always slip into the shadows or find some form of classy escape to keep away from the eyes of nosy journalists, seeking to uncover the true identity of the heroes who kept Manhattan safe from an alien invasion several months past. 

Which meant that, without even meaning to be, he was alone with Thor. Alone with whatever manner of compliments he bestowed to every member of the team, aside from him thus far. 

He expected praise for his candor and battle tactic, an intense jubilation of voice and spirit that coated the god’s words with what he hoped to emulate, with the way that Thor took the qualities of each individual person and created an aural masterpiece to whomever it was directed to. 

What he didn’t expect was the tenderness of concern that filled the god’s gaze, a gesture that made Thor gently grip his arm, his head tilting to examine the frayed part of his wardrobe - his left set of ribs and a little of his abdomen - that had been scuffed in battle. 

It was really no big deal, for he’d acquired far worse wounds in his life than bullet-fire from a hostile group that had attempted robbing many banks over the course of several days, initiating a last-stand that, thankfully, the Avengers had taken care of within a few hours. They had gotten shot at more times than Steve could count that day, but they all held their own. After saving the world from extra-terrestrials, bank-robbers with fancy weapons tended to not phase the group as much. 

“Captain, do not think that you can downplay any injury you have sustained. Are you quite alright?” Thor peered at the fabric as if it contained some mystery as to how Steve was still standing and not wavering in and out of consciousness due to blood-loss. “I am aware of your strength, Captain, but this blemish dictates that you were hit.” 

Before he could state that he was fine, really, that he barely felt what happened and had long since forgot about it, Thor peered up at him, fully and literally in every sense of the word, through his eyelashes. The god tilted his head, the skin around his eyes crinkling in his patented smile, something that he reserved for those that served as a great source of amusement to him, for those wonders that set his soul alight. 

A smile he was giving currently to him, that charming, upward quirk of his lips.

“I’m really alright, it didn’t bother me or slow me down.” Steve wished to high-heaven that he could muster from himself the motion to walk backwards, to take two to three steps back, back in his comfort-zone where a Nordic god wasn’t imparting him with the gentlest scrutiny in regards to a supposed injury he sustained in battle. 

But that was what Thor did: he got in your face and made you realize that it wasn’t so bad to have him in your face, especially when he was smiling. 

And smiling he was, all crooked slants of lips and white teeth, contrasting fully to the dark stubble of his beard. This was for him, for whatever reason. 

It was concern, a genuine expression of inquiry that begged the question _if_ he was alright, _if_ he was fully sound and whole with himself after getting a round loaded into his stomach. He was, he really was, because the bullets hadn’t given him any damage, just made it appear as if it had. 

Thor lowered his gaze to focus on the black and mottled part of his uniform, his left hand reaching out to touch it, stopping in mid-perusal when he realized what he was doing. As if a switch had been turned, the moment ended and realization dawned upon the god, his posture straightening up to his full-height. 

“It was not my intent to make you uncomfortable, I apologize.” Thor stepped back two steps and Steve released a breath he was unaware he had held between his teeth until it rushed out, whistling between his lips. 

“Don’t be. You saw me get shot at five times and walk away unscathed. If I saw someone get shot at like that, I’d make sure they were alright too. You’re a good guy, it’s nothing to worry about.” He offered the god a smile of his own and stepped forward, closing the gap between them with the two steps that became their temporary distance. 

That was when Steve realized just what was going on here. He wasn’t as blind as many believed him to be, and although he was naive to what in the hell was with HD television sets and email and those doo-hickies called laptops, he did know frantic desperation when he saw it. It was the look a comrade gave their best friend when they saw them get shot at, the thought that they really didn’t believe they were going to make it to see the sun again. It was pure concern, borne of the torment that the god really _had_ believed he would die in this battle. 

“Gosh ah, thank you. Thank you for being so concer-...” Anything he could have said was cut off with the two arms that circled his shoulder blades, pulling him close for a full five-seconds, because he counted. Counted, closed his eyes, and was thoroughly surprised by how good it felt to be held like this, to be given the concern of a mortal instead of a supposedly invincible super-soldier. 

“This is not my place, to hold you in this manner. But I worry for you at times, Captain.”

This was really happening, he was really being embraced by a god, by the Nordic god of legend who supposedly weighed too much to even step foot on the bridge that connected the worlds, hugged as if he was a dear friend who Thor was fully fearful for.

That being said, Steve couldn’t remember a time when a friend hugged him this close, much less buried their face in his shoulder blade, pressing themselves upon his person until any concept of proximity was little more than the forgotten face of a stranger. It was nice, really nice.

But well, it was still in the middle of an alley-way, and he really was alright.

“It’s ah, it’s alright...thank you.” He clapped Thor’s back, meeting metal and the texture of the god’s red cape with the palm of his hand. 

Thor separated himself from him, stepping back one step, his face sheepish and barren of guilt all at once. It was as if he had finally accomplished something he had set out to do for the longest time, and had gotten what he had wanted but still managed to retain a hint of chagrin against his smile. 

“Captain, you are a paragon that delights me, reminding me that men fall prey to the temptations of sin and false-truth, and that there are those who choose to be separate from such creatures, creating an example that blisters through the stars, setting whole worlds aflame with what you fashion as your own answers. I am honored that you accepted my concern, and if I might be bold, I wish to know you far better than I do now. Surfaces can only reveal so much, Steven.”

It took Steve a full minute to register that he was essentially being asked out to dinner, and another twenty seconds to respond, with a surprising lack of a fumbling tongue. 

“You really have an eye for detail, don’t you? How you manage to make everyone feel so good about themselves in so few or so many words never ceases to impress me. I’ll say it again: you’re a good guy, Thor. Good and ah...your offer. I’ll take you up on it.”

He supposed that was the beginning, the start of the matter that resulted in a brush of hands against steady, calloused finger-tips, no hint of being rushed pressed against their minds.

“Tell you what, whoever makes it back to base first buys dinner or has to find the pop-tarts or something.”

“Such a race will stifle not my affections, but I agree to those terms.” He could have had the race in the bag, could have but he just _had_ to look, look in time to see Thor wink at him and take off in a dead-sprint, barreling past cars, dumpsters and the litter that scattered across the asphalt with what little daylight remained. 

The thought of that being technically cheating and that conditions were never agreed upon as to when to start were swallowed by the night, by their steady breathing all the way to base. 

A chaotic, ungainly beginning. But it was where it began nonetheless.


	2. I Guess Pasta is a Precursor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are with day 2! Commitments, when they come in the form of such lovely stories, are always something to look forward to. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you for such support for the first part, it touches my heart to no end.

_Day 2: Accusation_

_Chapter 2: I Guess Pasta is a Precursor_

There was one habit that Steve thought it best to keep, no matter if it would have been in his best interests to shunt the concept of being surprised at every new happening that crossed his path. The way he saw it, was that if he managed to retain one child-like nuance, some sense of feeling wonderstruck at a new, fresh world, learning how to find beauty in an otherwise scary environment and situation would become something to be enjoyed, not feared. 

That was a promise he made himself early on, when the grief from waking up to a world changed was still raw and aching: that no matter what, he would try and find some good in this situation, to shirk being afraid for a sense of pure adventure. What was there to fear but fear itself and all that jazz - not tripe, because most of those old sayings tended to ring true in some manner. 

And if that meant trying a very strange-sounding cone sandwich twenty minutes after saving the world from aliens, that was exactly what he was going to do. He had slept enough, and he thought that the last thing he should do was be alone. That never worked out well for him without missions, without outlets to blow off some steam outside of beating the stuffing - or sand if literal minds would prefer - out of something after a long while of remaining in the same state for a long period of time. 

Perhaps that meant that he was clinging to the thought of camaraderie, of not letting himself revel in his thoughts for too long, for longer than what was necessary. Perhaps that meant that he needed to seek professional help, that maybe the world _didn’t_ need him even though he severely relied on the world and the purpose it gave him. Perhaps that meant a lot of things, but he was unwilling to dwell on what-if’s, on what it could destroy within him. 

He had breath, he was alive, and he found himself ensnared in a love interest out of the clear-blue skies without even meaning to be. Not that he resented what had taken place half and hour past, or wished for it to come to a halt at any point, but he simply wasn’t expecting it. 

Who expected for a god to pull them aside, look to your stomach, and then ask them out on a casual date?

That was when the best things tended to happen: when one was least expecting them, least expecting the brilliancy that could take place from the spur-of-the-moment concept of sharing a dinner in the living room of the newly-assembled tower that qualified for a considerable and appropriate place of gathering for the Avengers.

Each had their own rooms, their own space where they could properly train and be without one another, and each had their own method of leaving the tower when they needed a continent or two away from one another. Clint had his own plane, custom-built with his needs and wants in mind, Natasha had her own mental know-how, train hopping or plane infiltrating or whatever it was that she did, he had his motorcycle in the garage, Thor had his magic - if it was magic or the Bifrost or something, it was still magic in Steve’s eyes - and Tony had his work, and numerous planes, cars, and his suit at his impulsive beck and call. As far as Steve was concerned, the system was perfect, no one could get in the other’s way, and there was plenty of room for everyone. 

Almost like one big, well-trained family of all shapes and sizes, coming together to share a pizza or swap stories on their adventures once in awhile. Roommates of necessity, bonded by happenstance and their skill-set, spread out and forged into components that, when prompted by the threats that no other force in the world could handle, formed something wholly exceptional. 

As far as Steve was concerned, what more could he want? 

Especially when he found himself faced with a guileless, jubilant deity who insisted on preparing pasta for him, even though the race they had won had clearly been a tie. 

“Are you sure you know how to work an oven? It’s really alright, I’ll boil the water, bring out the noodles...” 

“Nonsense Steven. Stark showed me how to adequately prepare meals, and through much charred practice, I was able to master the oven, the small device those of Earth call the microwave, as well as the bouncing fire.” 

Steve cracked his neck once, closing his eyes to the gesture of muscles relaxing and snapping at the effort, wresting with the way to form what in the name of everything was “bouncing fire,” exhaling deeply all the while. 

Then it hit him, and despite how much he didn’t want to laugh for fear of hurting the god’s feelings, he laughed a little.

“Ah, the toaster. Yes, that’s a tricky one, all those little levers. Bread comes in and toast comes out, it’s like a miracle. Or, magic.”

Thor mirrored his actions, his hand placed on one side of his head to stretch his neck to the left, and copied the gesture with the right. He raised his hands above his head then, biceps bulging with the profound intake of breath Thor took, and without meaning to, Steve stared. 

It was rude to do so, to appreciate the thick cording of veins that were subtly defined in such well-toned arms, the skin sand-toned from the sun of the Earth and Thor’s home world. Planet rather, because like it or not, accept it and understand it or not, there was a world far beyond the soil that he knew of the Earth. Many in fact, many worlds that spun his mind into a frenzy considering that the Bible left out that little detail in Genesis. 

Otherworldly strength, a force that rippled through Thor’s arms, a strength that ran through the valves and organs of his body. Did he have the same organs, a liver there and stomach intestines, or did he have two hearts?

Two hearts. That would certainly explain the god’s gusto and concern for everyone the longer he met them.

It figured that at that moment, the moment when Steve was all but gazing at the god’s gaudy choice of armor, the direction of his eyes placed on a head-to-toe inspection, landed Steve’s eyes directly on Thor’s face.

Instead of looking mildly interested or cheeky, Thor just smiled at him, smiled as if this was what he wanted, to be looked at, to be something of his general interest. Because, in all reality, a reality that churned Steve’s stomach and reduced his innards to magma, he was of that specific interest to Thor. 

And, like before, Thor winked at him and before he could gauge Steve’s reaction - a little ripple of heat that coated his skin and filled his stomach with nerves - the god turned around, seeking a proper pan. 

“This dish, the scrumptious strings, you are not allergic or desiring a separate dish?” 

Steve shook his head, powerless to stop the smile that tugged his lips. “ ‘Course not. Spaghetti’s one of my favorites. I haven’t had that in...” He paused to consider it. Pasta, spaghetti. Maybe at his mother’s house when he was very young, maybe at some pizza joint as a treat with Bucky, maybe at some point in time when he couldn’t fully pinpoint it, but it had been years. “Seventy years. This’ll be great.”

Thor’s grin was all a stretch of lips and a flash of teeth, disappearing momentarily to seek the dish needed, a dish that Steve was expecting to be a small pan instead of the giant dish he was greeted with. 

“The hunger of the gods is a mighty one I can rightfully imagine.” He gestured to the pan that Thor was filling fully with water, filling and honest to God _humming_ as he waited for the water to rise in the pan.

“Right you are, Steven. The first meal of the day should be an excellent and hearty one.” 

“First...” That’s right, none of them had eaten in all day. The elaborate heist and the chase it ensued through the city, right after the assailants in question who had robbed several banks of the information and the money were hog-tied - courtesy of a new rendition of Clint’s bow and Tony’s prompting to treat these little piggies the way they deserved - and thrown fully into the police station held full precedence over the morning and full afternoon. 

He wondered if Thor happened to hear the little gurgle his stomach emitted on the chase over here, and one look to the god’s face said that he had, hence the enormous dish for the pasta. 

“That’s very nice of you to make me dinner, really.” Thor offered him a smile, setting the dish on the back-burner to boil, turning the dial properly and with hyper-care, checking twice to see if it was set on high and that the dish was placed on the correct burner. It was, but there was such concern in Thor’s movements, deliberate focus to make sure he was doing this correctly that Steve couldn’t help but feel touched, the fuss Thor was making over this little meal.

But maybe it wasn’t so little, that was the thing. 

When someone was willing to make you dinner and check the stove-top to make sure they didn’t burn dinner, you had yourself a very kind soul. 

“ ‘Twas the least I could do. I know that this display of skill is appropriate for how I feel for you at present, and truth is needed evermore.” 

Steve wanted to ask why, ask why now of all times to come clean about something he felt about him - and why him instead of some beautiful, fierce warrior on his home world or someone here - of all people. Not that he was berating himself, just wondering why _him_. 

“And well, why me and why now?” It might have been too austere a thought for right now, a time when he should just be enjoying the thought of someone making him dinner, of taking a genuine interest in his own well-being, firstly in battle and secondly with offering to make a dish he hadn’t had in far too many years, but he figured it best to speak, to ask, to voice the _why_. 

Thor’s smile crinkled the edges of his eyes, making it appear as if his eyes were smiling also, giving truth to the thought that this was both a benign and serious time. 

“I was waiting for the opportune moment, as timing and myself have not been allies for many a millenia. The mood was light, genial, and I found myself quite alone with you, alone and I could not resist asking you how you fared. I have never before seen a man who could take such blows to his belly and stand within moments, fighting against the very creatures that wielded the weapons that bestowed such damage.” Thor stood to his full height then, all broad shoulders and concern-laden eyes, his tone sincere. “That granted me curiosity, and many months past you caught my interest and eye. Your personal sense of life force and embodiment of all that is good and pure about this world, the colors that embellish this country are what you sail under, and there is no one better suited for the work, no greater hero from the past of what this world was and currently is.”

Steve swore he had a reply, swore he had something to say to whatever Thor was going to tell him. The problem was that he couldn’t find the words, find the way to fashion them on his tongue and between his teeth, his lips forming them and enabling a dialogue, a speech, a conversation engaged back and forth from a god who was interested in him in a romantic sense. He opened his mouth and then closed his lips immediately, finding that he couldn’t find the means to dissuade or agree with him. 

He was dumbstruck, and above all, flattered to the highest extent of his being. Dumbstruck, because he had tried for so long to be as good a man as he could, fighting the war he knew needed to be won, punching the bullies in the kisser because he had been given the strength to do so, as well as pursuing a way to end the deaths and the darkly-woven plans that threaded and bled into his country. A hero from another world was calling him out on what he had done by simply observing who he was in the fight, in the planning stages before the fight, and by being in the near vicinity with him. And flattered, because Thor had a way of bringing out the qualities that he noticed, showering said person with colorful and very true words, waxing poetic terms and building them up to be incredible people, even when they might not have noticed it or necessarily believed it themselves. 

Thor seemed to notice his reluctance - or complete inability rather - to speak and he said nothing, just gave him his patented smile and sought the spaghetti noodles, for the water was already boiling. 

Wait. Already boiling?

“How is that already boiling?” Steve walked around the island, still fully in his spangly and form-fitting to a fault outfit, squinting at the pan as if it held some secret as to how in the hell it was ready for the pasta after two minutes. “It used to take my mother a good twenty minutes for this, never-mind everything else.”

The sound of pasta cracking in half seven times was his response, along with a soft peal of deep laughter, laughter that all but rumbled in the chest of a guy who was supposed to be the embodiment of storms, of high-booming thunder and his command of lightning. 

“That is Stark’s doing; he proclaimed a deep-rooted hatred of waiting for water to boil, hence his alteration of this device of flame and creation.” The words came from his direct right, as Thor stepped behind him to set the pasta within the bubbling water, sliding the noodles in the water without thinking twice about it. As unnatural as it was to see a guy in full-blown armor - without his cape however, which was the one change - hammer at his hip and subtle but very there determination in his eyes to get this dish right, it was also quite something. Gods could make good pasta, who knew?

And render him fully speechless even still, for he had no retort, no reply that wouldn’t have been anything but a weak substitution for what should have been said. 

“Of course. That man’s too impatient to wait for a pop-tart to cook in the bouncing fire.” The chortle his words summoned from Thor’s lips was pleasing to the ear, a sound that he’d heard on many occasions out of Thor being greatly amused by something, but it was never his doing. It was a good thing, to make the guy laugh, to give him a smile after all he had been through.

“Quite right you are, Steven.” Thor’s brow furrowed then, looking up from where he was stirring the pasta with a fork, pasta that would easily be ready within seven minutes. “If calling you Steven is appropriate. If you would prefer titles, I will call you Captain.”

Steve had to hand it to the guy, he certainly was proper. “No, no, Steven’s great. Or Steve, whichever. It’s nice to be called by my name instead of all this,” he gestured to his body then, to the star emblem on his chest, tights and all “because all of us are more than our titles. I can imagine some people don’t like to be called dentists or road-workers simply because they do those things for a living. We all have a name, and an identity aside from what we do, and it’s nice to be acknowledged outside of that very thought.” 

Steve wondered if he came off as more than a little self-righteous right then, proclaiming left and right about identity and names and America and everything that he believed, forced on to another, but one look at the narrowed eyes of Thor, current pasta-stirrer and god from a world that baffled him showed him that wasn’t the case in the least.

“Your wisdom is the wind, blowing away the stagnant and stale recesses of my mind, urging betterness and what could be great from me, Steven. Yes, we are all more than what we reveal ourselves to be, more than what we show the world. I bestow you the same privilege, calling me by my name instead of the titles that trail after me like welcome but at times, cloying and persistent shadows. Ever an Odinson, but at the end, simply Thor.”

It was easy to lose himself in the wordiness of that speech, but he followed every part, finding himself smiling to the words, to the syllables that retained a trace of some foreign accent that he would never quite be able to place. 

“Then you will always be Thor to me then, you don’t need to worry.” 

The natural habit of one smile following the other, and a grin added on to the mix persisted its cycle, the god’s lips splitting into a smile borne of delight, nothing held back in regards to revealing how pleased this made him, the thought of him using his name instead of a plethora of titles. 

Treating one another like equals, like individual beings instead of what the world saw them as; that could lead to something pretty spectacular. 

Thor opened a drawer, rummaging for a moment for a second fork, exclaiming that the pasta was presumed done, but that one more thing had to happen for it to be labeled as such. 

“A taste test is in order, Steven.” Thor dipped his fork in the steaming and gurgling broth, twisting his fork around the piping-hot pot, not bothering to blow on them before placing the fork in his mouth, devouring the noodles without any concept of waiting for his food to cool down. 

“Ah! Wow. Alright. Hunger waits for no man or god.” Steve made the motion to grab the second fork, but Thor beat him with a quick movement of his fingers, something that Steve never expected the god to possess, ample dexterity and the grace that accompanied it. 

Thor was still chewing, but he made the motion of pointing to Steve’s mouth, and then to the still-simmering dish, noting that he wished to feed him, his eyes telling more than fingers and utensils ever could: if this was appropriate also, if he had not in some way over-stepped his boundaries. 

To this, Steve figured it’d be best if he just displayed his answer; he leaned over the stove, being wary of the burner, his mouth ajar and expecting, hoping fully that his eyes registered a playful light, stating that yes, he wanted Thor to feed him this pasta in such a way. 

If a god could bounce, that was precisely what Thor did, bouncing forward, swirling spaghetti around the fork’s edges, making sure to blow on it before setting it in front of Steve’s mouth. 

Steve reached forward, slipping the fork past his teeth and lips, chewing the fully-cooked noodles with what he hoped was a gratuitous nod, nearly able to speak without food in his mouth when footsteps alerted him to a presence that was most definitely _not_ Thor.

Meaning, someone caught him eating spaghetti off of a fork, being fed by a cheerful Nordic god who cooked the spaghetti in discussion. 

Tony had been chatting about how to accelerate particles and the way it would relate to the process of speeding up atoms - or so Steve tried in all honesty to follow - and Bruce had been listening intently, nodding and giving his own opinions. That changed when both scientists saw just how close he happened to lean into Thor - to be fair, it was because he wanted to get a good grip on the fork and not splash water everywhere - and just what was taking place. 

Tony leaned forward, index finger skyward as if he wanted to prove a point towards something, his mouth ajar when another miracle happened. The usually opinionated scientist closed his mouth, nodded at them, and then proceeded to load as many snacks as he was able to in his arms, two boxes of cereal, part of a chicken leg and something that resembled an avocado before he turned on his heels, still being uncharacteristically quiet. 

Bruce remained silent, nodding to them once before unmistakable relief marked his face when Tony was done grabbing food for them, offering his hands out to grab a box of cereal and whatever else Tony let him have.

Steve honestly thought that they’d be left alone, but when you shared living quarters with engineers and master assassins, the concept of privacy came down to occasionally bumping into one another, often at the most inconvenient of times. 

Especially when it had to do with notions of courting and getting to know someone else through thoughtful pasta. 

“I’ll build you two your own kitchen if you want. I’ll leave you to it.” Steve counted himself lucky that Tony wasn’t making comments about when they would get hitched, or something vastly sexual about eating or whatever ran through the man’s mind in regards to sex in general. 

Steve looked up and figured that he’d see something akin to confusion - or, in the worst-case scenario, revulsion or downright disgust - in Tony and Bruce’s eyes, but all he saw was a hint of ambivalence, hesitance in Bruce’s case and the look Tony got when he was faced with a giant puzzle, as well as undeniable pleasure. It was as if the two scientists were waiting for something like this to happen between the two of them, and as consequence, the accusation in their eyes was of the gentlest sort. 

It stated that they would leave them alone now, leave them to whatever _it_ pertained to. 

And once the footsteps left and the chatter about science and technology and everything Steve wouldn’t be able to grasp without a few thousand years in college, he found himself stating that he loved the pasta.

“Let’s eat up. We had a big day.”

And bigger times ahead of them Steve knew, but as far as he was concerned, the interruption ended on a high-note. 

“Indeed you are right, Steven.” 

The god wasn’t thrown; and neither was he.


	3. The Cure for Insomnia is What Again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few quick things: I love you all, you’re wonderful people and every-time I see a comment or some form of edible statistic in my inbox, I squee and feel incredibly blessed. I will never end these prompts with cliff-hangers, and this is essentially a story within thirty days, some events/prompts happening one after the next, some longer than the last - like this one. 
> 
> Now, back to my favorite blond-haired heroes and their escalation towards romance. 
> 
> 1940's lingo: gammin’-strutting, showing-off

_Day 3: Restless_

_Chapter 3: The Cure for Insomnia is What Again?_

It was aggravating how, after such an exhausting and trying day, the thought of sleep remained a faraway concept, no matter how his eyes drooped and his body proclaimed that the best thing in the world right now was the press of his legs against his mattress, the coolness of the room swathing him with the comfortable temperature of the tower.

Was it the fact that he wasn’t in his apartment, in that cozy - yet spacious abode that he was very thankful to S.H.I.E.L.D for providing - room with the beige sheets, paraphernalia scattered deliberately at each corner, the sounds of the city basking him in ever-present sound? The noise, the ruckus, and oddly enough, the discordance of frustrated taxi-cabs and traffic symphony provided a neat trick to his mind whenever he drifted to sleep; for the moment, he could believe that he was still in Brooklyn, that if he was to awaken to sunlight, it would be to the promise of another excursion and ride to find the next place to enlist in the army, that it was still 1942 and he was bound and determined, no matter the law and its promises to lock him up and besmirch his police record, to defend his country.

It was a comfort provided by illusions, by the lack of adjustment and press against his mind that this was still the 40's, that Hitler roamed the streets of Germany and meant to do warfare with the only world he had known. But the morning was greeted with the truth of the year, that seventy years had come and gone, and that sunlight was no longer as simple as opening up his eyes and looking to the day with a personal sense of duty. 

If he carried on that train of thought, he figured he’d remain awake all night, tossing and turning, punching dents in his pillow and trying to come to terms with the change all around him. He’d slept enough, for seventy years beneath a blanket of frost and the tundra-howls his lullaby, and dammit if that didn’t make him restless every now and then. 

Shouldn’t that have meant that he could go for another seventy years without sleeping, that he could keep fighting and remain awake for days, for years without any effect? Slipping into dreams had never been as trying as it had become; the innocent and less-experienced tended to sleep better, that was one of the many truths he knew to be gospel. 

Rest. Sleep. Dream. Some nights were easier than others, the blessed nights when he could slip between his sheets, close his eyes and find himself somewhere else entirely, those dreams he welcomed with a spreading of his arms. Even the nightmares he embraced, for it was proof enough of his survival, a mental strain that woke him up far before his alarm, yes, but it meant that he had slept. 

He knew there was a problem there, for when man relied on nightmares as a method of noting their eyes had closed to rest, what did that say about the man?

That he had known something great and fierce before, something that his mind resurfaced in illustrations that colored the shadows a few shades darker, the daylight something welcome and serving as a comfort to his rattled nerves. He was a soldier, and some nights would be harder than others. 

This just happened to be one of those nights, the times when he woke not in a cold sweat that stippled up his spine, but a night when he lay awake for hours, his mind refusing to turn off no matter what he had done in the day-time to tire him. 

Steve rolled to his stomach, burrowing his face in the freshly-washed pillow case, his hands jammed beneath the warmth his head provided. Maybe if he just thought about how nice this felt, how it was nice to close his eyes and see nothing, his mind would shut off, body registering that he needed sleep. 

Fifteen-minutes and twelve seconds later served as a slap to the face, that sleep would not be happening anytime soon. 

Steve rose from the bed, tucking his sheets with the precision of past military habit, smoothing out the dent in the pillow case from his head, intent on finding some way to tire himself out. Warm milk perhaps, some tea, a bowl of cereal or soup? A quick but effective workout, something that pushed his muscles and ligaments until his mind begged him to stop, to put away the weights and take the tape off his knuckles and finally get well-needed rest? 

He really hoped so. No good would come of him laying in bed, his mind going a thousand miles a minute, considering regrets and age-old sorrows and everything that he could have done to prevent what had taken place in his life. Standing still meant dwelling, and that was one luxury his psyche could not afford. 

There was no sense in being sad, especially when he had such a good life now. Some men woke up to find their world changed beyond repair without a guiding hand, without any semblance of friendly faces and helping forces. What right did he have to stick himself in the past and root his feet on infertile land when there was a country to help and a team to lead?

The fearless leaders of the Avengers, not quite so fearless when it came to lights out. 

Getting no rest tended to make him frustrated and anxious, for it meant that he had little control over what took place in his body, that despite his efforts, he still wasn’t granted sleep. He figured every now and then, every team member experienced that very problem, kept awake by troubles and worries of their own, their mind refusing to shut off and give their bodies rest. 

He was just like them. Kind-of. 

He shut off his light, the door closing behind him with a whispered click, wondering who was up at this hour. Granted, it wasn’t very late, 11:27 p.m the last time he checked, but for all he knew everyone would be sound asleep now, or just about to turn in after a quick shower or a bite to eat. Clint and Natasha weren’t there at present, but over-seas on some sort of infiltration mission, a small country in Asia that he couldn’t pronounce, which counted them out of his head-check on who would be up and about this late. 

For Tony it was a given that he would be awake, unless he passed out amongst his machines, with a wrench in one hand and a tumbler in the next. Bruce tended to go wherever Tony happened to haunt, and for all Steve knew, they were finding a cure for cancer and building cars that could fly with as much time as they spent in the labs together. Howard Stark had claimed that in a few years, cars wouldn’t need to touch the ground after all. 

Nostalgia, yet another nuance to avoid at this late hour. 

He felt heartless when he considered Thor at the last in his mental tabulation and checklist of who wouldn’t mind him spending a little time in their company. When a guy made you dinner the day before, at the very least you should have provided the good graces to keep them in your thoughts. 

Maybe, his mind wondered of its own accord, he just didn’t want to cling. Cling, because the god had been the one to treat him as a separate _human_ entity instead of some science project gone completely right, as some weapon and invincible creature that could be ushered right, left, and center with every turn of the tides of war and battle-song. 

The logic behind that was simple, but it made him feel as if he resigned himself to a modicum of apathy for the events that took place. Thor was sincere in his steps of courtship, of the downright honesty of telling him how he felt instead of dancing around the subject like Steve would have if their roles had been reversed. The dinner had been delicious, and Thor’s company was, to put it bluntly, seamlessly infectious. There was no hating someone who looked you straight in the eyes when you spoke, as if for the moment all else ceased to exist and matter, you becoming the god’s world and purpose for the few minutes you conversed. He had no distracted, wandering glance but a firm, gentle scrutiny that some commanding officers he had used to know would have greatly appreciated. And if he gave you a smile, which happened nine out of ten times, or a laugh which happened more often, any trepidation you were granted with as consequence of his size and brute-strength - not to mention the title of being a god and prince of another planet - all but melted away. It was hard to fear something so friendly, or have a negative opinion of such an open, guileless person. 

It was just difficult to process that such a straightforward, wondrous person - gods were still people after all - wanted his attention romantically, no matter how concise he had expressed his reasons for being interested in him. How did he not have a lady on his home planet, some battle-born beauty with thick red hair, chipped armor and a flashing sword stained the color of her hair? Or maybe someone here, some funny and attractive dame who enjoyed showing him the finery of the earth, showing him how to make coffee, order coffee, and dress outside of his gammin’ armor and cape style?

He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand it at all. That being said, the closest thing he’d had to a date was sitting in the car with Agent Carter on the way to a life-altering operation that turned his world upside-down, fumbling over his words and trying to figure out how to respect her and compliment her all at once. 

Although, he’d never been fed spaghetti from a pot before, or laughed in the living room to something on the television, his mouth full and his heart light before. 

Levity. Levity could buoy him, keep him from dwelling and falling into a frame of sadness that he never wanted to experience on account of what had happened to him. He would fight it with everything in him, fight for the right to push from his solitude into the waking world he found himself in. 

Especially when a god sought his company and conversation, bringing him out of his spangly carapace with a wry smile, vacancy a faraway concept in the company of someone so otherworldly, someone who wanted to understand him. 

Then what the hell was he waiting for? It was an open invite, and there was no better time than now, the instance ripe for the picking. If he was willing to do it, to let himself knock on the god’s door at this hour and ask him if he wanted to talk, because he couldn’t sleep and if he was awake, then why shouldn’t they talk about last night, about potential? Just _talk_ to try and wrap his head about what the god possibly saw in him. 

Down two flights of stairs, a quick left and a counting of doors found him ten feet from one of the people he wanted to speak to. Granted, Tony’s company could be tolerated - so long as he wasn’t ignoring everything he was saying or being an ignorant, incompliant ass - but for now, he couldn’t help the way his eyes opened a little wider, his mouth agape for several moments more than what was necessary. 

Knowing Tony, he probably thought that he and Thor were going to go into his room and do something dirty, and that was why he looked so surprised to see him. 

That really wasn’t it at all, but Tony’s opinion was rarely changeable, seeing as how he seemed to understand whatever it was he was dealing with within a few minutes of being in the near vicinity of that person. If he thought you were the greatest thing since sliced bread, then you remained as such. If he thought you deserved to be hurled across the street, hog-tied and gagged, then that was what would happen. 

And with him and Bruce walking in on him being fed spaghetti by the half-naked Nordic God that leaned against the door jamb currently, on the date that wasn’t quite a date but remained a date, Tony more than likely thought they were sleeping together already. 

Tony turned his head, studied his expression and Thor’s obvious ecstatic look at seeing him, gave a two-finger wave, clamped those two fingers over his mouth, and all but high-tailed it down the hallway. There was no snarky banter, no implication of what went on - or didn’t go on - behind closed doors with a not-so-subtle eyebrow waggle, no nothing. 

He must have thought that Steve’s business remained his own, or he wanted nothing to do with their conversation. Tony was many things, but he rarely lingered when it came to notions of romance, especially when they were in the development stages. 

Steve cleared his throat, crossing the expanse of ten feet between him and the god, noting that his previous assumption of Thor being shirt-less was very true. He was all bulging biceps and thick pectorals, his abdomen carved from some archetype of, well, the gods. Not that he was staring, because staring was rude, but it would be a lie to say that Thor was anything less than a knock-out, especially like this. 

Tousled hair, a semi-sleepy expression over his eyes - a blue so deep he lost himself for a moment - and loose sweat-pants added up to the truth: Thor was awake, and he looked so happy to see him that Steve had no doubts that Thor would talk with him right that moment.  
“Steven, good evening. Headed to rest your head this night?” The question was laced with such energy for his personal being, granting Steve an automatic smile. He was scared to talk to this friendly guy, a gentle giant? That was just crazy-talk. 

“I couldn’t sleep. Tossed and turned for about two hours before I gave up. I thought that if you weren’t sleeping, you’d like to talk.” 

There was no other explanation for the way Thor’s eyes all but lit up at the thought of them talking, talking out of Steve’s own want to speak with him instead of having it been necessity or during a meal or something to that effect. What would it be like, Steve wondered, to have someone mean so much to you that you wanted them to come forward, of their own will, to spend time with you?

Light, light of spirit, a levity that promised something akin to potential, to the thought that this could very much be a mutual romance if they gave it time. How else could he explain the little scuttle of fire that laced up his arms, churning his belly with nerves whenever he met the god’s eyes right then, whenever he noticed and admired and full-on _stared_ at the definition of Thor’s chest. There was no explanation, none whatsoever that didn’t fall short of being anything other than an excuse. 

He was attracted to him, because he had only felt this way for a pretty girl who granted him a brief slice of her attention, pretty pink or red polished lips flashed his direction for a quick but elongated moment of time. He had only felt this way for them, for the women of brevity that colored his world of the past. He knew what attraction felt like, and he’d be a fool to call it anything less.

“Of course.” Thor stood up straight, and Steve happened to glance at where Thor was holding his arms. It all made sense then, when he noticed the object in Thor’s hands, all rectangles and cords, with some sort of plug at the end, why Tony was at Thor’s door this late: he was giving the god something, and Steve happened to be struck with restlessness of the mind and body and happened to cross paths with the extroverted scientist. 

Bad, beautiful timing. 

“Is it permissible to sit in my room? If you would prefer being out of my quarters, I have no qualms. Your comfort is of my highest regard and import.” His room, Thor’s room, Thor’s room in the tower a few flights of stairs down from his own. 

Nothing was going to happen if that door closed, nothing that neither of them wanted. 

Steve clenched his hand at the thought, some sort of ecstatic hope simmering in his gut. “It’s fine, no worries. I may be old-fashioned, but I can come in someone’s room without a chaperone and without promising to wed them.” He said this all with a lilt of humor to his tone, making sure that Thor knew that he was only trying to lighten the situation. And with the way Thor’s eyes seemed to literally dance, his laughter a brief yet resonate chuckle, he figured Thor got the hint. 

The door shut with a click and they were alone again, this time of their own free will and not by their teammates excusing themselves all around them. 

“I suppose I only wish for you to remain comfortable. In my concern of your comfort, I might have smothered you with such notions, I beg your pardon.”

“No no, you’re fine. You’re hardly smothering me. In fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, the thought of, well,” Steve made a fluid hand gesture between the two of them with his index finger, stating that he wanted to talk about them, their still-in-the-budding-stages relationship “us. I owe you an apology.”

Steve looked around the room, noting a bed in the middle of the room big enough to fill the god’s thick frame if he chose to splay his limbs across the mattress and covers, a plethora of pillows, a lamp and a few decorations on the walls. Perhaps if he saw where the god slept when he was actually on Earth, he could find it in himself to find his impulse, the right words. 

“Ah, if you would grant me one moment, Steven..."

The god took a seat not on the bed but the floor, setting the device in his hands in the middle of the room, plugging it in to the outlet as if he had been doing it his entire life. Whoever said the god wasn’t learning needed an apparent eye-exam. 

Thor clapped his hands twice, the lights shutting off and bathing the pair in the darkness of the night, no light-bulb or flicker of moonlight to cross their frames. 

He was about to give voice to just what it was they were doing in the dark and if he had given the guy the wrong idea entirely when the device in the middle of the room whirled to life. It sounded like the turning of a miniature hamster wheel, but unlike a furry critter working tiny legs against its cage, color came from the noise. 

Before his eyes, he saw space. That was the size of it, the sudden projections of the solar system that filled the room, Saturn’s rings thrown against the adjacent wall, turning slowly in a cluster of stars of all sizes, pinpricks of white-hot flames and asteroids that shot across the taupe colored walls as if they were meant to do that, fill the makeshift room of a god whose home was somewhere far across the skies.

It was suiting that heaven was where Thor was, and when he couldn’t help himself but say that, the look in Thor’s eyes and the smile that filled his mouth was inexplicably kind, and all-around flattered. 

“You are too kind, Steven. Now, as to matters of us and what we are to become in the days that come to pass, I leave it in your hands. Not a thing can be forced, especially notions of sentiment that fill my heart to consider.” Thor settled against the wall, one leg bent and the other straight, his body a compass, an arrow, pointing directly at the bed, at where he happened to be perched on the edge of the mattress. “I will pursue you no further if it is not something you desire, but if that be the case, the evening I shared with you last night will not be forgotten in my life, no matter what occurs.”

He wanted encouragement, something to get him off his ass and beside the person that he found himself currently smitten with? That was his chance, his option, what he needed. 

Maybe, the little voice from before told him as he stood up, closing the distance between them in a few fluid strides, positioning himself against the wall, his shoulder directly next to the god’s own, that was why he couldn’t find sleep: the thought of what could happen between them scared him, frightened him because his experience with love and romance came from books, films, and the short-lived kiss of that secretary, as well as the night of dancing that he never could make. 

He knew nothing, absolutely nothing. 

“I want to get to know you. Because we don’t know each other. I can’t deny that I’m not interested though, I just know nothing about this sort of thing. I wasn’t exactly the pick of the prime back in my day.” Steve lifted his gaze to watch the stars dance across the room, solar-light coruscating in a flash of gold-reds and purple-blacks, his breath caught when he noted a comet that blazed past them, hitting the wall in a splash of yellow-white. 

He ducked out of the way and swore that he felt a slash of heat kiss his cheek, his face turned to meet Thor’s in a proximity they hadn’t had acted on since last night. He wanted to ask what this device was and if it could potentially set the room on fire, but that didn’t seem important at the moment.

What mattered was acting, was in getting a point across.

_‘Impulse. Do something. Don’t look back.’_

He wound his fingers around Thor’s, meeting the spaces in-between calloused fingertips, a thumb caressing the space of skin between his thumb and pointer finger. He was holding hands with a god, star-gazing, and the god was interested in him. 

Steve was pretty sure life was beautiful. 

“I just don’t want to cling to you. To say I’m hesitant and still going through things of my own would be an understatement. I don’t want to drag you down with me if I get sad, or angry, or bitter because I lost seventy years of my life.” 

Thor nodded, his eyes understanding. “I read your file, Steven, and I know what you went through. I say that as lightly as I am able, for though I know, I do not understand. I did not place a flying craft in the frigid waters to save a nation and sleep for threescore and ten years. I cannot understand such a sacrifice, as I have never made such self-forfeit in my many years of life.” 

“If I am able to, without my words ringing hollow, I will say this: I will give you as much time as you need, and if you still do not wish to be mine, there shall be no hints of resentment on my person, in my actions, or in my eyes. We are a team first and foremost, and this feeling...this burn, this flame that tempts my breast every-time I look upon your face is mine alone to bear.”

Steve had always known Thor’s voice was deep, the embodiment of the thunder he reigned, but he had never known it could sound like this, rich and melodic, soothing to his mind. The warmth from the god’s hand heated his palm pleasantly, the veins in his arm stirring to life when he spoke of fires and flames and patience, of being nothing less than the god he respected and admired fiercely as a warrior and teammate. It held him in thrall, his ears mesmerized by the timbre that came from his throat, and he wondered how anything could sound so good, so beautiful. 

“It’s not. One-sided I mean. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”

Duality showed itself them, a diametric tug that told him to kiss the god then, to press his lips against Thor’s mouth and know what it was like to act on such an attraction, to know what it was like to taste the swell of lips and beard-stubble from such an honorable and strong guy. The other part stated that the timing was perfect for everything but that, that he should wait just a little bit longer for something internal that called to him, stating that the time was now, the time was right.

He settled for resting his head against Thor’s shoulder, leaving himself plenty of room to sit up if the god found it invasive in any way. He swore the god hadn’t taken a breath until he placed his head in the crook of Thor’s neck, inhaling the scent of earthy soap and freshly washed fabric, his skin comfortably hot. 

He was allowed to fall in love, right? His duties as Captain America didn’t rob him of that right, to choose for himself who he wanted? No, no it didn’t. 

“I choose you. You’re the one who treated me like a normal man instead of as a shield or something invincible. You called me out on how I was shot, pulled me aside and asked if I was alright. And then what did you do? You made me a delicious dinner, actual food. You didn’t assume that because I was made to be this strong, I didn’t eat.”

Thor’s laughter sounded far away, even though he was a good three centimeters away from his mouth. “You are a man, the strongest man I have ever known. And if you fall asleep, as you are now, have I your permission to keep you for the night in my bed?”

“Yes, yes of course. You won’t try anything, you’re too good.”

The next peal of laughter definitely sounded far away, and yes, his eyelids were drooping now, purely out of the peace he was just granted. 

“I could never dishonor you. Now, Steven, rest. You are safe here, I can assure you.”

He tried answering, he really did. But all he could do was watch the stars and their fragile lights, wondering where Thor’s world was.


	4. It Reminds Me of Christmas, What About You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are wonderful people, this pairing holds my heart in a way that hasn’t happened in quite some time, and I really like the thought of all-you-can-eat coupons.
> 
> Also, Thor's reason for his despondency for the second part of this chapter will be unveiled next.

_Day 4: Snowflake_

_Chapter 4: It Reminds Me of Christmas, What About You?_

To be fair to himself and anything that came from such self-aware fairness, Steve hadn’t counted on falling asleep anywhere aside from his own room. When was the last time that he fell asleep on anything other than his mattress in his apartment, or the room that Tony so graciously offered him as living quarters for when he was too tired to ride back to the home that wasn’t really a home? Never. 

That was why it had come as such a shock to him to wake up with his face in Thor’s stomach, waking up on account of one clogged nostril all but rammed against the skin of the god’s thick-muscled abdomen. He snorted suddenly, springing up and nearly rolling off the bed due to how shocked he was, and how little he could recall of the previous night.

What had happened, he thought frantically as he checked if he was still wearing clothing, nearly falling off the bed a second time in the process. Had something actually _happened_ between them without him remembering? With what little he knew about sex and the act itself, you weren’t just supposed to forget a coupling unless it was something you waved off with your hand on account of it not having been eventful or a waste of a night. 

That was when he remembered what had taken place, the conversation that resulted in him falling asleep on Thor’s shoulder, watching the glitter of nebulae ensconce the room in a celestial embrace, stars dancing at his fingertips and beyond his sights. They had talked, listened, and furthermore and most importantly, got somewhere. 

A race, pasta, and a chat could certainly lead to interesting circumstances that he was living through. 

Steve ran a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp with his fingertips, wondering just how long Thor had sat with him in the darkness, watching the twist and turn of science-born gadgetry project something recognizable and comforting to the god. Three truths came about from the memory of the device and the impossible beauty it provided: Tony was a good guy, Thor more than likely missed the skies of his home world more deeply than he was letting on, so much so that he had asked for a Stark-built gizmo of familiarity so that he could feel at home in a world that wasn’t his own, and he hadn’t fallen asleep around someone in years. 

Regret and propriety spoke of how he should have tried harder to stay awake, but he had a hard time feeling guilty over how deeply he had managed to rest, and how genuinely good he felt right now because of it. 

Falling asleep next to someone so pure of heart - and romantically interested in you at that - could make you forsake still-fresh anxieties for the birth of a new day, that much was for certain. 

One way or another, he thought with a smile as he looked to the slowly-waking god on his left, he was paving a way in this new world, fumbling with his feet and tripping on his own shortcomings the whole way, but it was working nonetheless. 

After all, he had managed to talk to the guy after he had unintentionally avoided him for a full day after the fateful pasta dinner.

Thor rolled to his right, his hand coming to rest two centimeters away from his thigh all of a sudden, fingers barely grazing the fabric of his pajama pants on the way. The god mumbled something unintelligible, his eyes opening to the sights of Steve shifting away from the hand that could have, potentially, groped either his backside or inner-thigh. 

The god nodded sleepily to him, retracting his hand with a sheepish quirk of his lips, eyes unfocused but smiling still, a smile that could be called an elated beam.

“You stayed. I feared I would awaken to the chill of sheets.” 

Steve reached forward to pat the god’s shoulder, the act showing him that it was alright, that he knew Thor would never make him feel uncomfortable on purpose. “I wouldn’t do that. You’re warm and you were nice enough to let me share your bed, and even open your door for me at such a late hour without expecting a thing in return. I should be thanking you.”

Thor chuckled, the laughter throaty and for him alone, which gave way to the rise of heat to his arms and the churning in his gut that let him know that he elicited such a display from another person. A kid from Brooklyn could make a god laugh, who knew?

“Let me treat you to breakfast. Tony gave me a coupon for an all-you-can-eat diner a few blocks from here.” 

The god lifted himself from his place against the pillow, stretching his arms over his head and yawning hugely, the flash of white-teeth and pink throat reminding Steve of a contented tiger after a good night’s rest. Thor blinked several times, his eyes focusing on Steve’s face, and for all the world, he looked like the happiest man on the planet. 

Thor placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder, squeezing gently, all strong fingers and a heated palm. “I would be honored to accompany you to an endless feast.” With the way the god had leaned close, still in the early stages of waking up and off-balance due to drowsiness, their proximity level sky-rocketed within five seconds. They were pretty close right then, inches apart, and it would have cost him little effort to extend his neck and press his lips against Thor’s, simply because it felt right, good to do so. 

But he just couldn’t. He just couldn’t, out of his own hesitancy to turn his head, to do anything more than meet the god’s eyes and exchange a smile with him. He’d gotten a handle on his feelings just fine last night, but that didn’t mean that he was ready to act on it quite yet. 

And with the perceptive glint in sky-blue, in eyes with such limpid depth he nearly lost himself looking in, he saw nothing but understanding. They were eyes that stated that Thor would be as patient as he would like, that even if by next Christmas he still was unwilling to kiss him or act on what was taking place between the two of them - stirring, he felt it then in his chest and skin - Thor would understand. 

If by next Christmas he couldn’t kiss the guy under the mistletoe or by a fire or under the tree or something, then there truly was something wrong with him. 

It was all unspoken, this flitting of evenly-met gazes that revealed an unending amount of forbearance and willingness to understand that this would take time. And if building and creating wasn’t part of the journey, to a destination that both unsettled and thrilled Steve to consider between him and Thor, he didn’t know what to believe. 

“I’ll go get ready. Take your time. And really, thank you. I could have spent a night wandering around with a bowl of chicken noodle soup or milk, whittling away the midnight oil.” Thor’s lips parted, eyes narrowing in a tangible question that colored his gaze with inquiry. “Ah, it’s an expression, using energy in the night.” 

“I never knew. Midgard has copious amounts of expressions and dialects, it will take me many years to master these terms.” Steve couldn’t help but smile at that, his tension evaporating from post-chagrin to last night’s events to what would take place between the two of them today. 

“Tell me about it. I’m seventy years behind. We could teach each other.” 

Thor sat up, and Steve wondered if he was going to bound off the bed at the thought of learning more about the Realm that was under his hand of protection. Instead, he just squeezed his shoulder one final time, meeting his gaze evenly.

“It would please me to no end to learn with you, Steven. That means only that you wish to spend your time with me, and assures me of your sentiment, solidifying the words you spoke to me last night.”

Thor released his hold on Steve’s shoulder, rising from the bed in a balanced move of legs and arms, stretching his neck and shoulders with a practiced, fluid motion of his hands. And once again, Steve found himself staring/not staring at Thor’s physique, admiring the way the god had obviously built himself to look this good, all muscles and sculpted planes of his stomach, pectorals and bulging biceps that made his own arms look wimpy in comparison. 

“I meant what I said. I’m just having a little trouble acting is all. Don’t get me wrong though, I want to, I just can’t seem to do it. I was even going to kiss you last night, but I just couldn’t.” For the third time that day, Steve felt like he was going to fall off of an unfamiliar bed because of something that happened that was more or less, out of his hands. What he really wanted to do was roll off the mattress and hide under the bed, or run out of the room and mumble something about Thor meeting him at the diner, because he just couldn’t face him right then for admitting something so intimate, especially when the god had been nothing but compromising. 

If it was possible for Thor to smile any wider, he managed to break his own record then, his mouth a flash of teeth and pink lips, his eyes dancing. He didn’t, as Steve feared, call him out on his lack of guts and personal courage for being unwilling to be intimate with him, because that just wasn’t who Thor was. He was patient, humble, and very willing to attempt an understanding, even if he didn’t know what the hell was going on around him half the time.

He was the most patient person Steve had ever come across. 

“When the time is right. I will force not a thing from you, in my silence and in my words. I will wait fully for you, when you feel it is appropriate for you to act.” Thor pressed a fist against his chest, his tone austere and eyes narrowed to show that he meant every word, that never would he place Steve in a situation where he didn’t feel comfortable, even if it was what Thor had longed for, this connection and the physical accompaniments it came with.

Steve might have been ungainly and inexperienced, but he knew desire when he saw it. For all he knew in Thor’s mind, the god had wanted nothing more than to entwine their limbs together earlier, burrow under covers and sleep through breakfast and lunch. And yet Thor resisted his own wants for Steve’s comfort, comfort for the customs in which he saw fit to follow, the old-fashioned mantra that he just couldn’t seem to shake. 

“I...thank you. Thank you, really. For being so patient with me. I’m still not too sure what you see that you’re willing to wait for if I’m being honest, but I take one look at the way you’re looking at me, probably right now, and you look as if I’m the greatest thing since sliced bread.”

Thor padded over to him, and before he could give birth to half-formed protests that it was really alright, he wasn’t berating himself or anything, just blind to what Thor saw that insisted his own patience, taking his hands in his own. Had his hands always been trembling like this, his palms sticky and slick with sweat?

“You are magnificent, Steven. I strive to have such a sense of honor and nobility about me as you do all of the time. You give me someone to look to on this earth, someone wholly human and filled with an inner-sense of reason. If you granted me the time, I would orate until my voice grew hoarse about your tact in battle, the kindness that you give to all, as well as the way you conduct yourself with a propriety that I could scarcely hope to emulate. I will not leave your side in all of what you go through, because in this brief time that I have known you, you have touched me far deeper, speaking to a side of myself that screams for the betterment of my soul.”

Steve averted his gaze from Thor’s to the carpet, to his legs, settling at the last on their entwined hands, at the fingers that steadied his own from his own proclivity to shy away from praise. How did one respond to that? How could anyone form words that would match such a good-natured speech with anything more than a weak attempt at gratitude? You couldn’t just say “thank you” to something like that. 

He opened his mouth and honest to God tried, tried to find eloquence and something appropriate to say back, retorting in a way that let Thor know that he was grateful, that he was so grateful and flattered to the highest extent of his being for being the product and inspiration behind such sweet, thoughtful words. 

But nothing worked, no word or many words would fix this speechlessness, lest he clumsily ramble once again. 

He supposed he waited for the right moment far too often, for the right time to intervene on a conversation and give his two-cents to something that he wanted part in, the right time to act. It all began with him, with what felt right. 

That was what caused him to separate their hands, only to tilt the god’s head up with a silent twist of his wrists, catching expressive pupils and drowning in their blue before his lips met Thor’s in a press of his mouth.

He felt the god smile against his mouth, his lips settling against his in gentle segments of pale-pink and beard-stubble, of grappling hands that found his shoulders and his hands that buried themselves in Thor’s hair for a full minute, a minute of ignition and fire, of intimacy and the heat it could provide to any amount of frost the near-winter day would surely evoke. 

They separated as easily as they had come together, their breaths ragged, chests heaving and hands - his hands, not Thor’s - shaking. 

It took him a few moments to be able to speak, but he figured he had to speak, say something about how good that felt. “That felt right. That felt right and good. And I just wanted to thank you in some way. I give speeches, sure, but they pale in comparison to your own, and I didn’t want to half-ass my gratitude.” 

Thor smiled at him, his eyes alight. “You have shown me how deeply your gratitude lays, Steven.” The god reached up with his hands, tracing Steve’s lips with his thumb and index finger, wonderment in his eyes, enchantment palpable and thriving, as if all of his questions, wishes, and assumptions on how this moment would go, of how he would taste and feel had been answered right then. And, if Steve was being honest, Thor enjoyed this far deeper than any half-imagined fantasy. “Many times I wondered what it would be like to kiss you; this is far better than futile attempts at imagination.”

It was Steve’s turn to smile, to smile at the thought of this god, of this almighty deity wondering what it would be like to kiss _him_ , _him_ of all people. It was his turn to place his hands on Thor’s shoulders and squeeze. “Go for it. I think I just broke my own rules anyway.” 

Thor shook his head, his eyes reflecting mounting desire in lapis depths, that profound blue that stole Steve’s breath. “I fear if I kiss you now, we shall never leave this room.”

This made Steve shift a little, his movements urging a deep peal of laughter from Thor. “Ah, well, ah, I’ll go get ready now, yeah. See you in twenty or so.”

He could still hear Thor’s laughter all the way down the hall. It was always a good thing to hear the god laugh, to know he gave him amusement by just being himself, no matter how socially inept he was at notions of romance.

_ststststst_

As accustomed as he was becoming to assimilating in the belly of a tailspin, rocking to and fro with the changes thrust upon his person, there seemed to always be a surprise around every corner. Aliens for one, because they existed, aliens with ugly teeth with giant scales, skeletal space ships that served as a type of mother for heinous, lust-drunk creatures spawned from Hell, wishing ill upon Manhattan. Secondly, there were gods, actual gods from another planet - because there was more than the Earth, a frightening and mentally jarring concept - complete with gold horns and a frightening capacity to yell and wish for humans to kneel to some tyrannous, worldly debilitating rule, gods with red capes and battle-ready hammers that could control storms. Technology, television, tablets and new and improved ways to hold information, or gain it at lightning-fast speed. 

Steve supposed the point in this was to just go with the flow - so to speak, because that meant that he was floating, however proverbially - and let events just happen. For now, the world was safe, his team was happy, and he was starting to figure a few things out. 

One of those things being the god he had currently asked out, asked out into a day that he had thought would be fairly warm, no matter how close to winter Manhattan was. 

He had known it was winter, or close to the end of the seasons in large part to the television and the local forecast. In all of the ecstatic excitement and personal chaos such frightening joy gave him these past two days, the weather had become the least of his worries. During the days before the serum, before his health was something he never had to worry about again, his bones had always ached with an inner-chill, his chest throbbing and kneecaps sensitive to his movements, every ligament and joint in his body protesting the change of seasons, the thought of snow and the disturbingly cold winters granting him no amount of all-encompassing warmth. 

Now, the thought of the cold didn’t bother his skin, but he figured it best to blend in with the common-folk and wear a jacket, and maybe a hat. 

“I’m going to grab a coat. Don’t you need one?” 

Thor pressed his hands against the glass of the window, all sand-tones and thick fingers, his eyes set on something Steve couldn’t see, something beyond the window. Perhaps in a world altogether different than this one, perhaps where the snow sang on sentient, ancient voices in gold clusters instead of white, feather-soft and freezing. 

“It would do well to blend in. Yes, I shall gather a cloak.” The god’s tone was playful, but a dark undertone settled against the words, the shadow-form of a double meaning and all of the twisted inspirations it could dawn settled upon the two sentences, stirring Steve’s curiosity. 

Exactly what had Thor been thinking about when he had found him downstairs, watching the snow fall? 

“Coat. Though, a cloak would be neat too.” 

The god turned his head, his smile easy. There was still a contemplative light in his eyes, blue pupils and the mind of a deity far from here, stilling when he blinked several times, the haze lifting from his vision. 

It could have been nothing. But Steve knew when there was something, when the smile didn’t quite reach the eyes of those prone to light-natures and easy grins, and when there really was nothing. 

He also knew better than to push; if Thor could grant him such a luxury of not prying or asking too many questions that filled his throat with the gall of shame and pain alike, he would give him the same honor. 

“Quite right you are. Excuse me for but a minute to prepare.” Steve expected for Thor to bow his head, duck at the waist or kiss his knuckles or something akin to the days when knights proclaimed their love for ladies in song. 

Instead, Thor nodded to him, walking from the foyer with quick, even steps, his determination set to get some form of appropriate weather gear. The god could have easily walked outside in little more than his undergarments and he would have been fine Steve presumed, and as uncomfortable and hot as it made him to consider such a vision, he knew that to be true. After all, the guy could control and govern the storms with his hammer’s will; who was to say that he fostered the limitations of winter and the chill it inevitably brought?

And, above all, Thor had gotten a coat on his will and his gentle insistence. He could have refused with that big, open smile of his and marched right out the swinging doors with his head held high, proclaiming that never had he seen such a winter, such a white-washed land that colored the world a radiant, silent tapestry.

But he hadn’t. He had turned around without protest and done what he had asked, no matter if it was just a simple request. 

That made him fidget in his own coat, the hands jammed into his pockets tightening with a sequence of a release and clench of his fists. A god adhered to _his_ power, instead of the other way around. Wasn’t there some cosmic rule that said that such backwards logic shouldn’t have been allowed? 

Perhaps. But Steve didn’t believe it for one moment. Thor was hardly the type to regulate such an archetype of rules stating that humans should bend at the knee before his very presence, and the truth presented itself in the very snug, form-fitting jacket Thor entered the room wearing. 

“Tony has excellent taste.” Thor closed the distance between them in a few quick strides, fiddling with the olive-green collar of the coat all the way, as if he both enjoyed the feel of the jacket and was not used to being clothed by such foreign garments altogether. 

“Indeed he does.” Steve reached forward, adjusting the collar and the satin-smooth cloth, wondering just how much Tony was secretly providing the two of them with. Tony Stark, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist cheerleader of all things hinting at romance, who knew? “It suits you. Red suits you too, as well as your armor but this is nice, real nice.”

He was talking too fast again, his tongue fumbling over his words, tripping over simple sentences that were meant to be compliments on how earth-tones favored the god’s skin tone. The green brought out the lighter hues in Thor’s eyes, contrasting against the wheat-gold of his hair in the best way possible, accentuating his features instead of hiding them. 

But there was no way that someone like Thor could simply _hide_. 

Thor’s eyes never strayed from his, and there was no inkling of a distracted, faraway pain in his gaze any longer. There was only him then, only he and Thor alone in the lower sanctum of the tower, without interruptions, without Tony Stark’s appetite for strange things at odd hours of the night and his own doubts, both thankfully forgotten and pushed to the corners.

“You’re handsome. Really handsome. I’m going to have to fight to keep the pretty waitresses from slipping you their home number.” Thor’s eyes, honest to God, twinkled, dark lashes brushing his eyes in gentle tones of cerulean, coating the god’s sight with something Steve recognized, a step past fondness: un-filtered, without bounds, adoration. 

“Rest assured Steven. I have eyes for only you.” Skepticism and a vanishing inner-diatribe set aside that this was happening too fast, that it all was too much far too soon, Steve placed his gloveless hand in Thor’s, entwining their fingers, the initiation of the act coming as easy as breathing, as picking up his shield, as doing something he had been doing his entire life. 

“I can tell. You’re pretty open that way.”

Thor’s head tilted, eyes settling on his first before averting towards the door. “This glass and steel threshold is a mighty step; are you prepared to walk in tandem with me, our hands never parting and shoulders against the chill of elements both tangible and transient?”

Steve had to hand it to the guy, he really had a way with words, with finding a way to hit the point, no matter how superfluous or wordy it sounded to outside ears. Outside, yes, outside where other people could see them holding hands, where other people could see them engaging in the conduct of two people who were slowly becoming committed to one another in regards to romance. Yes, outside of his comfort zone, breaking his rules to fragmented smithereens, blazing past them towards something better than his own misgivings and fear to move forward had ever proved to be. 

Some things were more powerful than fear, than the solitude that came with waking up to a world forever changed. Some things, he reminded himself as Thor squeezed his hand with a subtle, soothing pressure of strong digits, were worth waking up to: the truth that he was alone no longer, that despite what he had to get through, understand and find some way to cope with the loss of years and people in his life, he wouldn’t have to endure without a god at his side.

Figuratively, literally, metaphorically, whatever.

“A big step,” Steve began, his steps light and easy, unburdened and purposeful, tugging Thor’s hand forward to the doors “that I’m more than willing to take. Besides, this is more about getting to know one another and filling our stomachs than it is making a statement.”

This seemed to please Thor, for his face was all exhilaration, his eyes bright and contented. He’d made the guy look like this, but more so, _he_ felt good about it. 

Everything felt right about this, about intertwining their hands, free from gloves because they were unneeded, his hand fitting neatly against the thunderer’s own. Not too big or too small, just right. 

When he began comparing holding hands with Thor to the tale of Goldilocks, he figured he had either stepped off the deep end into teetering sanity, or he had found something more than the thought of engaging in war, of the sacrifice that had stripped him of such innocent, painfully child-like notions. 

He’d found _someone_. It was better than falling into the too-easy trap of his own sorrows, far better to spend his time walking forward into the crisp, biting winter air, snowflakes coating his lashes and the cold stinging his ears than spending his time cooped up in his apartment, whittling away the time until the next mission, the next time when he could prove himself valuable, that he was still of use, not outdated as a man and as the hero he had been created and strove to be all at once.

Flurries roved in a silent, delicate dance of frost, the sky a pewter smear with the nimbus color of the clouds. A colorless, all-colored world, washed by the purity of what the season brought: freshness, winter winds scattering banal, stagnant thoughts, a new beginning here and now. And Christmas. 

There were people around, bundled up business women going about their business with hats, scarves and leather boots, carrying leather briefcases, men in simple jeans and jackets handing out colored pieces of paper, advertising some sort of musical event that was taking place later that month. Children, elderly, cabs and the commotion of a city that baffled him, intoxicating him with the dizzying sights of colors and electric, translucent screens that changed their pictures like a television screen, surrounding him with the plunge into change, his head under a water that clogged his throat, filling his vocal cords with something far thicker than water and blood could create together. 

The brush against his palm let him know that he was held afloat somehow, in the midst of this ever-twisting and unfavorable tide. He found his center, a reserve of inner-docility that he hadn’t had in God knew how long. 

There was a loss of power here, of control, the thought that he had followed through on a duty that had cost him far more than he ever dared consider. There was time here, a day, the morning and evening his, the twilight hours and the time before dinner his to take, to form and seize in any way he wanted. 

He had found purity in the thick of the maelstrom, amongst the bedlam of strange faces and traffic horns, against the crazed swirl of the triad emblem he had made his namesake and title. 

Beating the odds no matter the costs had always been his modus operandi, hadn’t it?

“Steven? I desire to grant you what you have already bestowed unto me earlier this morning.” Thor brushed the pad of his thumb over Steve’s, and the look they exchanged was met in equal parts by a flicker of heat against his skin, as if someone held a match to the muscles and tendons of his bones, his body a live-wire of thrumming, stimulating energy. 

There was no inner-chill here. Especially when a god wanted to kiss him. 

There were people around, people weaving around them in the streets, all apathetic and busy with their own thoughts. No sneering at their fingers, no tongues speaking vilifying and all-together cruel statements about how they were sweet, how it was unnatural, against God’s will. 

Quite frankly, Steve figured God wanted him to be happy and keep doing what he was doing for his fellow man. And since love came from God - not that he knew if this was love yet, for his attempts at it had been juvenile at best - the opinions of who was around him ceased to matter.

Perhaps, Steve wondered as he gave the god a nod, granting him the right to step closer, to place his hands against his shoulders and press their mouths together, there was a reason behind not knowing a thing about romance. 

He’d just been waiting for the right partner. 

This was kind-of a dance, the snow fluttering around them in a quiet song of solace, the heat of the one who initiated this dance wrapping him in an embrace that enveloped him in the warmth of promise, of searing passion that had yet to be 

This kiss had power behind it, the knowledge of knowing how to kiss and kiss well, all lips and a gentle nudge of Steve’s face with Thor’s nose. A grand, brilliant force, leaving him for the lack of a better term once it was over and he’d grappled for his bearings and breath, weak in the knees.

He nearly stumbled forward, his heels rocking on the concrete that seemed to have turned to water in the expanse of the moment of impact and connection of their second kiss. _Theirs_ , a word he never thought he’d be able to say, not for a long, long time. 

The hand that he had never released held him at bay, steadying him with a press of warm hands against his shoulder, electric eyes alive, heated with a current of irrepressible pleasure for what had just happened, for what had taken place. With the way the god was looking at him then, it appeared as if he had made his day yet again, just by being himself, by letting himself get kissed.

It felt so, so right to just let himself be, without being expected to give anything lofty of himself in return. 

“I don’t know about you, but it’s starting to feel a little more like Christmas.” Thor’s eyes narrowed in that gentle way of his when he didn’t understand something, all crinkled skin around the edges of his eyes and pupils ablaze.

“I do not understand that reference. Over our feast, please impart me with the knowledge of this “Christmas.” 

“It’s a good thing, I promise.”

Promises, Steve figured, had a way of turning into something wholly beautiful, especially when it was directed at very literal meanings of self-progress. 

And if it was one thing Steve would always do, it was keep his word.


End file.
